


Locked Down

by Lyssandra_Med



Series: One-Shot [34]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Hermione Granger, F/F, Ink Magic, Marking, Masochism, One Shot, Sadism, Scar Magic, Smut-ish Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-18 18:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21281342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyssandra_Med/pseuds/Lyssandra_Med
Summary: Hermione knows she's Bellatrix's plaything.She wouldn't have it any other way.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Series: One-Shot [34]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429282
Kudos: 93





	Locked Down

**Author's Note:**

> No Beta / No Edit / Writing practice masquerading as (lite) smut.

_ Lock it down; _ the bite is binding and heavy as she strains to pull away.

_ Screw it up; _ sharp nails, harsher words, the smell and taste and _ feel _ of iron as it pollutes the space between them.

_ Settle in; _ the ride only gets rougher the longer it goes on, something she wanted, something she craved, the burning sting evolving into a chasm of fire between her ribs.

Magic danced behind her eyes in swirls and sparks of amber, her mind still aware and conscious but not _ present; _ not like it used to be anyways.

The Dark Witch was a looming monstrosity atop her bedsheets.

The Dark Witch was a mote of dust to be inspected with precision and magnifying glass.

She was _ everything, _ and she was _ nothing, _ and Hermione wouldn’t have it any other way.

If that was enforced at the end of a sprawling scar embedded along her back, wrapped around and focused by the ink spilling out across all her limbs, no matter, clear the dead rot, she was _ here _ and she was _ now _ and she oh so very much wanted _ this. _

This feeling of being low beneath her hips with face turned upwards to catch dew along her tongue-

This feeling of a body pressed against her own with a fervor and heat that she had never once experienced before-

This feeling of being owned so totally that even reactive thoughts which went against her wishes were denied, all rooted into forcing her to praise the slickness, praise the blood, prostrate herself before a Lord made of flesh and pain.

She was good, she was right, she was everything the Dark Witch asked of her and more beyond that, more extending outwards towards infinity until her hands were caked in dried blood and her face a cracked grin with sharp teeth and hungry eyes.

Fingers _ ‘Popped!’, _ as she withdrew them from her mouth to trail lazy patterns against bone white thighs, between a slit veiled with black curls and mounting heat. She took the plunge, took the voice, took the nails digging into her shoulders as she waited for a moment, one moment more, to slide in and out against a rhythm all her own.

The free hand, the Marked arm, rose along the curving of strong muscle to palm harshly at swollen flesh-

_ Rougher, faster, quicker, _ ** _harder-_ **

-dragging moans to the surface where before it had only been warm breath.

Her tongue joined the fray at some point, lips sucking and nipping in time with spasms and undulations, her whole body fighting to keep itself pressed hard against the Dark Witch’s core, her mind and soul united on this one thing, this one action. A heat rose through her chest the longer that their dance continued, building and rising with her pulse and the aching of muscles in her arms, her mouth, jaw tense and unwieldy with the repetition.

She pulled back at the last, drew herself away with such speed and ferocity that the Dark Witch had no time to grab her hair, no moment to dig claws in, no second with which to keep her trapped. Warning pulsed along the edges of her Marks, back heating painfully with the force of her anger and displeasure, muted only by the dredges of pleasure running through her veins.

She climbed, higher and higher, up and up, tracing the body below her with her own until breasts pressed down to breasts, eyes stared down into eyes. She asked permission with her mind-

_ ‘Granted-’ _

-dove down into those waiting lips with a gasp and nip of teeth that had her reeling from the sensation, shivering in anticipation, one hand wrapped atop the curve of a thigh and the other threaded between them until fresh fingers found purchase in her core. Slick desire propelled her forward into action, pulled her lower until a dark bud was between her lips and suction grinding out a keening sound from the Dark Witch below her.

Nipping and biting she tore herself a claim to the Witch, carved herself a memorial to her pains and just rewards. 

There wasn’t a moment when she realized it but all too soon she was grinding along the graceful muscle of the Witch’s leg with shame far away and lust building all the way up into her fingertips. _ ‘Flush,’ _ she knew the word, had heard it before, saw the red overtake the pallor and timed herself to thrusts best suited to matching moans and the arching of a strong back.

She coated that thigh and reddened further for the shock of it, the shock of allowance mingling with the pleasure spiking through them both until her aching hand cramped so tightly she was left with nothing more to do other than pinch that stiffened bud. Her actions wrenched a scream from the Witch below her, a crescendo to her madness timed succinctly with her own-

_ “Crucio.” _

Stars burst behind her eyes in flowered patterns of colors she had only imagined, every muscle seizing, every tendon straining, her lungs bound up in helpless spasms that painted her cheeks and throat bright red.

The Dark Witch took her time with savoring the minute changes, force and application and intensity all simple variables that she twisted until her body was jerked off of the bed and back onto the floor-

_ ‘Where I belong,’ _ a hollow thought taking hold as the curse shattered itself to leave only the tingling remnants of desire and aftershocks riddled with adrenaline and dopamine.

Black chains rose out of the ground to tie themselves around her limbs, her body wrenched and pulled into prostration.

_ Knees; _ bent into the ground while she sat atop her ankles.

_ Head; _ bowed down to press against the cold stone floor.

_ Thighs; _ spread wide so that the-

_ “Yes-” _

The word dripped from her mouth like honey as the Dark Witch kneeled down behind her without a word or a sound to betray her motions. A hand reached low, traced a taut ring before delving lower to spread lips still slick with her arousal. One digit entered before leaving to coat a trail of heat across her clit, retreating just as soon as she jerked forward with the sensation. She teased and continued-

_ Fast _

_ Slow _

_ Fast _

_ Slow _

-building her onwards until she rocked and scraped her head to the tune of panting breath and lip bitten moans. She jerked and shifted and fought to extend her range of motion all for a taste, a touch, a _ pleasure- _

_ “Crucio.” _

That dreadful finger was out yet again, pressed firmly down like she could keep _ it _ trapped with only that simple force, _ Pain _ spiking through her like a lance until she crashed and fell apart.

\---

Tears stained her cheeks after who knew how many minutes, after who knew how long she had been passed out, her body removed from bonds to lie boneless and still.

Her head was atop the Dark Witch’s lap when she regained a modicum of consciousness, sharp fingers teasing through her frizz and mangled curls. A voice hummed up above her, something dark and sweet and singing of all the many things that they would do.

Her voice joined, stilled the nails trailing against her scalp, before the discordant tones matched up and the affection began anew.

Hermione was locked in place; a plaything for Bellatrix’s machinations and desires, and despite the curse that tore her mind she knew she wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
